Primus, the little fleshling can talk. Did she even stop to
breathe? Impressive. And annoying. Knock Out rattles off a list
of answers -- or non-answers, as it were -- effortlessly, sounding
almost bored.

"Knock Out, of course I came here on purpose, one hundred
ninety miles per hour -- though I can push two hundred on a
good day -- and none of your business." That last answer
is drawled out, a dangerous edge to it. "There. I answered your
questions. Now...go. Shoo."